


Caretaker

by HouseSnow



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Flu, Fluff, Illnesses, Influenza, M/M, Sickfic, past sexual encounters, taking care of hanzo is a full-time job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 21:05:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseSnow/pseuds/HouseSnow
Summary: McCree is all prepped and ready to take-off on a high-stakes firefight mission, when he’s reassigned at the last minute to a much more dangerous task - Hanzo Shimada is sick and needs someone around to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.





	Caretaker

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends~  
> First time finishing a McHanzo piece that I liked enough to put online. This was sort-of part of a longer work I was working on, but I’ve since scrapped the idea, but I salvaged this idea because I thought it was kinda cute. idk I will probably revisit the ending of this over next few days
> 
> Enjoy anyway folks!  
> \- HouseSnow

“Babysitting?! Is that all I am now? Overwatch’s resident babysitter?”

From behind her desk, Angela Ziegler, resident doctor and permanent pain in Jesse McCree’s ass, sighed. “Jesse, you know that’s not why you’ve been chosen. You are a highly skilled and valued member of Overwatch.”

“Not skilled or valued enough, apparently.”

She pursed her lips, and tried a different approach. “We noticed Agent Shimada and yourself have become... Friends, of some sort. Is that correct?”

He paused. It had been a while since he and Hanzo spoke. Their last mission was riddled with failure: a sloppy, last-minute getaway and countless missed shots. When the last of their enemies had fallen, they had traipsed back to their hotel room, bruised, bloody and broken-spirited. The little family-run liquor store across the road was too tempting for either of them to pass up, even with the abysmal selection of cheap booze and off-brand cigars.

They drank. They drank to forget the bad times, to reminisce the good. They drank as much as they could until their words were weighed down by their tongues, sloppy and slurred. The cheap liquor went down unpleasantly, leaving an aftertaste that was nothing to be desired. They didn’t care; it did what it was supposed to do.

He wasn’t sure quite how it happened. Who initiated it, who kissed first, whose hand wandered where, but before either of them knew, they had filled the silence with the sound of messy, hasty kisses. The type of kisses only those who let the alcohol do the work can achieve.

Everything was hazy after that. The frustration of just everything that had gone wrong that day had been amplified by the alcohol. McCree would have been lying through his teeth if he said that he hadn’t thought Hanzo to be a striking man beforehand; he was far from quiet in voicing his opinions.

They never spoke of it since. McCree was almost certain Hanzo remembered everything, but he was very good at not talking about things he’d rather forget. When he tried his hardest, in a brief lapse of concentration, McCree thought he could remember the feel of Hanzo’s mouth kissing the inner skin of his thighs, the sweet moment of hesitation when their eyes met before they pushed well-passed the boundaries of friendship and out into uncharted territory.

"Of some sort, yes," he said, trying desperately to push that lingering image of Hanzo giving him a drunk man’s attempt at passable head.

“Well that’s a hell of a lot more than the rest of us.” She let another tired breath escape her lips, and closed her eyes. Jesse noticed just how exhausted she looked; the short lines forming near her eyes seemed deeper than before. Age was trying to catch up on her, and McCree was starting to think she was letting it get ahead. “Truth be told, Jesse, I am not comfortable leaving you behind. I’ve made my stance clear, but Winston just won’t budge. They need me out there, but Hanzo needs someone here.” She cracked a small smile. “Genji offered to stay, you know.”

“You know better than anyone, Angela, that there’s no guarantee we’d even have a Watchpoint to return to…”

The faintest of smiles appeared on her face. “I am sorry, Jesse.”

McCree held up his hands. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m a little selfish. just wanted to be there, to back ya’ll up. In case...” In case something happens. He didn’t need to continue. She gave him a small nod - they had always been on the same wavelength.

Clapping his hands together, he stood up from the little stool he had been sitting on. “Well, I’m getting on in years anyway, might as well let the kids have all the fun.”

A laugh, short but genuine, left her lips. “Don’t let Hana hear you call her that. Otherwise you’ll be delivered back here in a little box.” She stood up, grabbing a couple of sheets from her desk. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

~

Hanzo’s room was on the top floor. He had specifically requested it when he first arrived. There had been a debate amongst the older members before they considered assigning it to him; it had once been Reyes’ den, an age ago. Fond memories were attached to the place, but one those were stripped away, all that could be salvaged was a messy blend of emptiness, sadness and, for some, bitterness. Throwing away his old junk had been equally therapeutic as it was satisfying for McCree.

“Hanzo,” he knocked softly on the door, “It’s me. I mean, McCree.” No response. He tried a different approach. “I hear you’re too weak to whip a gnat. I’m here on Angela’s orders, so don’t even think of-” CLICK. The sound of the door locking shut. McCree chuckled, and pulled out a keycard. One swipe, and the door slid open. “Bingo.”

He had to give it to Hanzo - the man had impeccable taste. McCree’s room was a mess of old keepsakes he had left behind once Overwatch fell apart, scattered around between boxes of old magazines, discarded clothes (debatably clean) and an impressive array of empty cereal boxes (midnight snacks). Spring cleaning consisted of nothing more than him pushing things around in creative ways until 2/3rds of the floor was visible once again.

Hanzo, on the other hand, knew how to keep a room clean. Everything was organised, clothes tucked away inside boxes, shoes lined neatly up by the door. He didn’t own much in personal belongings when he arrived in Gibraltar - a duffle bag on one shoulder and his bow on the other - but he’d starting accumulating souvenirs from various mission he’d taken in recent months. Matryoshka dolls, an array of snow globes, a mini street sign from Ireland, a postcard of a Mediterranean lighthouse (Lucio had sent everyone one of those via snail mail, despite the fact he arrived back to the base 2 weeks before they did), Chinese paper lanterns…

A cough from his right reeled Jesse back in. A weary-looking Hanzo was propped up on several cushions in bed, a blend of confusion and surprise crossing his face. McCree held up the card and winked. “Medical access, strictly for this weekend only.”

“Ah. I see Dr. Ziegler is still insisting I be babysat.”

“My words exactly.”

An old blanket was wrapped around his shoulders for warmth. Aside from the pallor of his skin, he didn’t look sick. A small tray beside his bed held a glass of water, a packet of over-the-counter medication and his communicator.

McCree shuffled awkwardly on his feet. “So, uh, how are you feeling then?”

A shrug. “I have been better.” A small mountain of tissues had accumulated in the wastepaper basket beside his bed, the pinkness of his nose a testament to their existence.

“Ang tells me you got the flu.”

He sneezed, as if to answer his statement.

“Bless ya.”

A grunt.

“Look, if you need anything… Just gimme a shout on the comms channel. I’ll be around, I guess. Angela warned me what would happen if I left… Never thought she had language that foul in her, to be honest...”

The elder Shimada brother blew his nose, and tossed the used tissue aside. “Where is Doctor Ziegler? No one told me I’d be left in the hands of a buffoon.”

McCree pressed his hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “Ouch darlin’, that stings.” He took a seat in on a plastic chair nearest the bed, settling in and crossed his arms. “To answer your question, the doc’s shipped out with the rest of the team. Some trouble brewing in Italy.”

“Hn. Not good.” He coughed, and McCree offered him the glass of water. Hanzo drank a sip, then handed it back. “I do not need you to be here, you know.”

“I know. Figured you’d want the company more than anything.” He let his gaze wander around the room. Gabe had chosen this one specifically as it overlooked the sea. It was easy to become captivated with how beautiful the scenery was from here - one long, clear window stretch from one corner to another, curving outwards in the center. From this side of the base, there was nothing but the ocean.

An age ago Jack Morrison had said it was the perfect room for running away from the world for a few hours. McCree was inclined to believe him, seeing the view for himself.

“A new record.”

The American tore his gaze from the horizon and looked back to Hanzo. “A new what now?”

“You haven’t said a word in two minutes. Surely an achievement for you.” His eyes were shining slightly, a slight curve to his mouth.

McCree pretended to be offended “Even when sick you’re an asshole.” Truth be told, he had missed this off-hand banter. He hadn’t really had the chance to talk to Hanzo since they parted way at that little roadside hotel in Germany. McCree had left before Hanzo woke, requested elsewhere posthaste.

Their schedules hadn’t allowed more than a passing ‘Hello’ since. This was the first time they’d spoken in almost a month. He was glad it wasn’t weird; there didn’t seem to be anything in the air, no unspoken words hanging over them.

He wondered if Hanzo remembered as much as he did.

“You are spacing off, cowboy.”

A nervous laugh left his lips. “Sorry, just thinkin’...” He stretched, and relaxed back into the chair. “Like what you’ve done to the place. Gabe spent a lot of his time here. Jack too, though he would never admit it.”

“They were close, I hear.”

“You have no idea…” When McCree arrived, a fresh-faced teenaged punk, Gabe and Jack already had reams of history together. Taboo to talk about, of course. Years later, it struck him how little he actually knew about either of them pre-Overwatch.

Hanzo was almost thankful when a coughing fit took over, shifting the mood slightly. McCree had come over to steady him, a large, warm hand resting between his shoulder blades. The fabric of Hanzo’s t-shirt wasn’t thin enough to stop his skin from tingling.

“Want some tea?” McCree offered, withdrawing his hand. “Might make you feel a bit better.”

“That would be nice.”

He returned a few minutes later, a little teapot and cup on a tray he nicked from the medbay. “Homemade lemon, ginger and honey.” He poured and passed a little cup to Hanzo. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He watched as Hanzo drew a sip, the light from outside reflecting on the silver studs on the bridge of his nose. “This was surprisingly good,” he says, once the cup is drained. He hands it back to McCree and yawns. The tea warmed his cheeks, but underneath his complexion was drawn and tired. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome Hanzo. I’ll let you rest up.” He refills the glass of water before he goes, and adds “And don’t forget to take those pills Angela left. She’ll never let me live it down if you die,” before he sauntered out the door. Though by the steady breathing he can hear from the bed, he’s sure his words fall on deaf ears.

~

The buzz of his communicator vibrating woke McCree up hours later. Bleary-eyed, he brought his wrist up to his face and pressed his finger to the sensor to unlock. The time told him it was three minutes away from four am. The television had paused itself once it sensed he had fallen asleep, the timeless face of Clint Eastwood looking off towards the horizon, frozen in place. McCree stretched, back aching from the angle he’d nodded off in - he hadn’t meant to sleep there, it just sort of happened.

The brightness of the projection of his communicator made him squint for a moment. A message blinked back at him impatiently, waiting for his eyes to adjust to read it.

 **From** : Hanzo

 **Message** :

[3:35am] McCree, I think there’s someone here.

[3:47am] They’re out to get me.

[3:55am] I need backup.

[3:57am] They’re here! Help

The American blinked for a few seconds, brain slowly processing what was going on. Then, like a shot, he was up, stumbling, hands reaching for his chest armour from the floor and jammed his feet into his boots. Peacekeeper loaded and cocked, he rushed out from the room and made for the stairwell. Nothing but glow from the moon to light the way, McCree stepped silently up the stairs. He could feel a bead of sweat roll down his neck; what if Talon had infiltrated the facility? Athena hadn’t alerted him of anything, but the last time Winston encountered Reaper, he reported that the agent was able to move freely as a wraith-like cloud. He could be anywhere near McCree and he wouldn't even know until it was too late.

The door to Hanzo's room was shut. McCree pressed his ear against it, but could hear nothing. The silence scared him - what if Hanzo was already gone?

He steadied his breathing. The door whizzed open as he pressed the med badge to the panel, fingers wrapping around a flashbang. He was ready.

“SCATTER!”

“AGH!”

“McCree?”

“What the hell didja do that for Hanzo?!”

McCree heard the familiar sound of a dozen arrows flying around the room as he stepped in. The moonlight wasn’t bright enough for him to see anything but a dull shape moving around to his right. He stepped back and hit the lightswitch, the last arrow whistling past his left shoulder and sticking into the wall by his hand.

The room was a mess. A handful arrows were planted in the floor, with a few more sticking out from some pieces of furniture. Hanzo was standing beside his bed, unsteady on his feat, breathing heavily as he stared down McCree. Stormbow was loosely knocked with another arrow.

After looking quickly around the room, McCree dropped Peacekeeper to his side and rounded on Hanzo. “What in the flying HELL is going on here Hanzo? You nearly killed me!”

His eyes were wide, fearful. “They’re after me.” He said, lowering his bow. “But I think you got the last of them.”

Jesse frowned. “Hanzo, I didn’t…” A glance over his should, just in case there was something there. Nothing but boxes stacked atop one another, the fletching of an arrow poking out of one. “Got the last of what, exactly?”

The archer placed his bow against the wall. A glass-like sheen crossed his eyes. He was slightly unsteady on his feet, using the wall for support. “The Yōsei,” he whispered, “They followed me here and have been watching, all this time.”

McCree watched as Hanzo brushed off imaginary dirt from his clothes.

“We are fortunate they are dead. They dabble in necromancy, did you know? Disgusting creatures.”

“Han..” McCree tucked his gun safely back into its holster. “Look at this place, how much of that stuff did you take?” He nodded at the medecine scattered on the floor.

“Oh that? None.”

“What! Hanzo, why!?”

A look haughty enough to make Satya proud crossed his face. “... I do not like the taste.”

Fighting back the urge to slap his palm to his forehead, McCree instead let out a long, slow breath. He gently grabbed Hanzo by the forearms and guided him to the bed. “Sit down for a sec, Han, lemme just..”

He pressed a hand to the archer’s forehead. The heat radiating from it hit his hand before he even touched his skin. “Shit, you’re delirious.” Up close, McCree noticed his eyes were completely glazed over, his cheeks flushed pink. You’ve fucked up now Jesse… “Do you feel okay?”

“I will live.”

He stood up. “Right, uh, get back into bed, please- Hanzo! What in the-?”

The elder Shimada had thrown his arms around McCree and pulled him towards him. “Hanzo, no. You’re sick, you don’t know what you’re-” He jumped, feeling a warm kiss against his neck, and for a split second, he was back in that shitty motel, bodies pressed together, the smell of off-brand vodka and blood surrounding them…

Two hands gripping Hanzo’s arms, he firmly pushed him away. He moaned, and pressed a hand to his head. “Fuck…” He peered up at McCree, as if only seeing him for the first time. “W-What are you doing here?”

“Hanzo, listen to me,” McCree said slowly, cupping his cheek to try and get him to see eye-to-eye, “Lie down, and I’ll be back with some medicine.”

Moments later, he returned to Hanzo fast asleep in the same place he left him. He seemingly just flopped back onto the bed and found it comfortable enough to snooze there.

“Angela, I will never take your work for granted again…” It took a few moments, but McCree eventually angled him onto a pillow, blanket tucked up to his chin.

Hanzo opened his eyes, and saw McCree hovering above him. “Jesse?”

“Everything okay darlin’?” He placed his metal hand on Hanzo’s cheek, knowing it was cold enough to feel nice. Hanzo keep his gaze steady, and leaned into the touch. “You gonna take those pills now?” A nod. “C’mere, I brought some nice cool water, should help ‘em go down easier.”

He eased Hanzo up, and handed him two of the tiny capsules and a small glass of water. He watched as the archer swallow them back, wincing as they went down.

Settling back onto his pillows, Hanzo reached out and pulled McCree down towards him. “Please stay,” he said, closing his eyes.

McCree propped himself up on arm, watching as Hanzo buried his face into his chest. The heat radiating from him was uncomfortably warm, and he promised himself he’d slip away once he was sure the fever was waning.

~

  
Hanzo woke the next day, parched and aching all over. He rolled onto his side and reached his hand out until he found a glass of water. His fingers brushed against the pills Overwatch’s medic had left him, and he begrudgingly tossed back one and swallowed the water a second later. It was warm from sitting in the room so long, but it soothed the sting in his throat, and woke him up a little.

He wasn’t expecting the snore beside him. Jumping in shock, he flipped over and cursed loudly in Japanese, ready to hit whoever it was with the empty glass clutched in his hand.

The sleeping face of Jesse McCree greeted him. The American was curled up facing him, sleeping in nothing but his shirt and jeans. His armour discarded on the floor beside the bed, Peacekeeper safely tucked away in its holster beside the bed.

In his hands was a small cloth, still damp and soaking the area around it. Hanzo wasn’t sure if he should wake McCree, but a sudden sneezing fit that caught him by surprise stirred the cowboy from his slumber.

“Mmm, ‘nzo?” He yawned widely, stretching so long his feet poked out over the end of the bed. He rubbed his eyes a few times, then sat up slowly, combing his fingers through his hair to tidy it up a bit.

“Mornin’ Hanzo, seeing any of them Yosei this morning?”

Hanzo frowned. “What are you talking about, McCree?”

The cowboy chuckled. “Look up archer.”

He followed Hanzo’s gaze as his eyes roamed to the ceiling. His eyes widened as they swept form arrow to arrow. A hand came up to his face and he buried his face in it. McCree could swear there was colour spreading across his cheeks. “I am so sorry Jesse..” He said, eventually managing to make eye contact.

A grin broke out of McCree’s face. “Don’t sweat it. You weren’t in your right mind. Fever playing tricks on your brain.” He reached out his non-metal arm, “May I?”

Begrudgingly, Hanzo nodded. The hand was cold against his skin, a slight shiver ran down his body. “Still a little warm,” McCree said eventually, pulling away. “Now, I ain’t a doctor, but reckon you wouldn’t have twenty different holes in your floor if you did as you were told in the first place and took those pills Ang was kind enough to give you.”

The look of shame Hanzo’s face made McCree give him a reassuring pat on the back. “Hey now, don’t worry about it - I can fix this place up in no time…”

“Thank you, Jesse.” He peered curiously up at McCree after a second’s thought. “Why are you here anyway?”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave you alone, could I? You were seeing imaginary spirits.”

Hanzo said nothing. He watched as McCree stood up and started carefully extracting the arrow from the wall beside the bed.

“That, and you asked me too, of course.”

Hanzo didn’t respond, but when McCree glanced over his shoulder, the archer’s cheeks had flushed pink from embarrassment, rather than fever. “Should we talk about that?”

“I think it’s time we did.”

~

  
After McCree stuffed Hanzo full of painkillers, decongestants, freshly-brewed tea and a steaming bowl homemade chili soup (“A family recipe,” he proclaimed proudly, “Ain’t nothin’ like it in this world, I promise.”), he settled back into the chair beside the bed and folded his arms.

“It was interesting. I have not eaten chili in a very long time.”

“Hope it wasn’t too spicy for ya.”

The archer scoffed. “Not at all. You’re surprisingly adept at cooking.”

“Why thank you darlin’ - I’ll take that as compliment.”

Hanzo pulled the blanket up to his chin. It had been donated to his growing collection by the gunslinger. It was warm and soft and smelled faintly of his cigars. “McCree… How long must we dance around that night?”

“I didn’t think we were dancin’, Hanzo, more like… I thought you had forgotten. Or.. That you didn’t want to mention it ever again.”

“I think about it alot.”

“Me too.”

Silence fell softly around them. McCree watched Hanzo, the archer looking out towards the sea. He played with the words in his head for seemingly an age, before eventually asking, “Do you regret it?”

The pause that followed was uncomfortable. After an age, a response, “Not at all.” He turned his gaze back to meet McCree’s; his eyes were sharp, and not for the first time Jesse felt like Hanzo was staring past him, straight into his head. “Do you?”

“N-Not at all, Hanzo! I just-”

“Then why did you leave?” Hanzo’s gaze was piercing; Jesse felt his chest jolt uncomfortably.

“I had to; 76 called me in as back-up. Heck, I was still half-drunk getting on the dropship.” He leaned forward in the chair, trying to catch Hanzo’s gaze. “Darlin’, please, believe me when I say, I wish it could have been different.”

Jesse felt his stomach do a flip, a wave of anxiety sweep through him. Here goes nothing, he told himself. “I-I wanted to ask you out proper for a long time Hanzo.” He leaned forward in the chair and placed a slightly shaking hand atop the archers. “I guess while we’re being all honest here, I still fancy you something mighty. And if you’ll have me.. I-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

McCree envied the archer’s confidence; his own face felt hotter than a Texan summer. Hanzo looked as calm and collected as usual, even as he said, “I accept.” He turned his hand over and felt their fingers slot together. It felt natural; like they had done it a thousand times before.

A silly grin spread across McCree’s face. He laughed, a product of nerves and relief, and pulled Hanzo’s hand to his face to press a scratchy kiss to his knuckles. “I’m honoured darlin’.”

~

  
It took a few more days, but eventually Angela was happy enough with Hanzo’s health to reinstate his access to the training grounds. He’d taken her advice and wrapped up well, to kick whatever remained of the virus from his system.

He found McCree there, punching a sandbag hanging from the roof. When he saw Hanzo approach, he stopped and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. “Mighty surprise seeing you out here. You feeling better?”

“Better than ever.”

McCree smiled. “That’s great. Ain’t nice being sick, especially when there’s not much to do ‘round here.” He turned back to the punching bag, and drew back his left arm again. “Hey, uh, I was thinking, if you’re up for it, we could take a wander down to town and maybe grab some lunch?”

A small smile broke across Hanzo’s face. “That would be perfect.” He grabbed McCree’s bicep and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. “It’s a date.” A chuckle escaped the cowboy’s lips, as he turned away from his training bag to pull the Japanese man closer and returned the kiss.


End file.
